Page 93 of Snowbound Surrender

“Are you ready?” he said once he had the trunk in position on the chairs and all of the straps and closures undone.

“I’m ready,” she answered, clasping her hands together and resting them in her lap. Her hazel eyes sparkled with expectation.

Randall straightened and cleared his throat. “Mendel’s Marvelous Brushes,” he announced, then grabbed the lid of his trunk and pulled it open with a flourish.

Instead of the variety of brushes that were carefully strapped into place in the display contained within the trunk, a burst of his wadded, dirty laundry spilled out. Randall’s heart stopped, and his face burned. He’d undone too many clasps, opening the hidden compartment in the trunk that secured his clothes. Everything from shirts to trousers to long underwear spilled to the floor on the stage in front of him.

Miranda’s eyes went wide, her mouth forming a round O. A second later, she clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes dancing with laughter. Her shoulders shook.

Randall had a hard time not laughing himself. “Um, right.” He reached into the trunk, pulling out the wide-head broom and handle attachment that rested on top of several other brushes. “This is a demonstration,” he explained, screwing the handle together to assemble the broom. “Yes, a demonstration of the sweeping power of Mendel’s top-of-the-line broom.”

With the broom assembled, he turned to sweep up his clothes, pushing them under the trunk between the two chairs. It did nothing to hide the random bundle of garments, some of them unmentionable.

“And when you’re done with that,” he continued, setting the broom inside and reaching into the trunk for a hand broom and dust pan, “you can tidy up the mess and get rid of it.”

He bent over to brush a spare sock into the dust pan. There was no place to put it—it would have taken him several minutes to sort out the clothing compartment of the trunk—so he shrugged and tossed the sock over his shoulder.

Miranda laughed outright, then slapped her hand over her mouth again. “Oh, dear.”

“Never you mind that.” He went back to his salesman routine, overly-confident, stilted voice and all. “Mendel’s Marvelous Brushes has the right tool for whatever domestic job you have. We’ve got cleaning brushes, as you’ve seen, personal grooming brushes…”

He reached into the trunk to take out a fancy, women’s hairbrush with one hand and a man’s shaving brush with the other. His grip on the shaving brush wasn’t quite what it should be, and as soon as he pulled his arm up, the bristly thing went flying. It hit a bottle that had been left on a nearby table, breaking it.

“Oh!” Miranda jumped at the crash.

Randall’s mouth dropped open. It was that or burst into laughter himself. “Hold on.” He dropped the hairbrush back into the trunk and rummaged around. “I’m sure I’ve got something to clean that up.”

“Won’t the hand brush and dust pan do?” Miranda stood and hopped onto the stage, coming to stand beside him and peer into the trunk.

Randall discreetly removed some underwear that hadn’t escaped in the initial explosion. He cleared his throat. “Believe it or not, Mendel’s has a special brush designed for cleaning up glass. Ah! Here it is. Complete with a hand guard.”

He took out a brush that looked very much like a standard hand brush, but with a curving bit of wood attached to the handle, like the hilt of a sword. Miranda rested a hand on onehip and sent him a teasing, scolding look that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You broke that bottle on purpose to show me this brush, didn’t you?”

Randall couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer. “I swear to you, I didn’t. But isn’t it handy that they make something like this?”

He stepped over to the table with the broken bottle and began to sweep it up with the special brush. When he realized he hadn’t brought the dust pan with him, Miranda fetched it and carried it to the table. She handed it over with mock solemnity.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” Her eyes teased and flirted in direct contrast to the modesty of her demeanor. The contrast did things to Randall’s heart that he hardly dared to think of.

“I’ll confess, I’m not,” he answered her with a sigh, sweeping up the glass.

“Then why pursue a profession that doesn’t suit you?” she asked, then added in a mumble, “Not that I’m one to talk.”

Randall studied her with a curiosity that burrowed deep into his soul. He liked Miranda Clarke, new though their association was. She was the kind of woman he would want to spend much more time with, if his ventures didn’t demand he move on. There was something about her that made him feel like he could share anything with her.

“I can assure you, it wasn’t my idea.” He took a step back, dust pan in hand. “Is there a place where I can dump this?”

“Over here.” Miranda started away from the table, an arm outstretched toward the bar. “I have a special bin for broken glass.”

“Thanks.” He followed her, dumping the glass into a bin full of shards.

“Our tea is probably ready now, if you’d like to take a break from presenting to explain why you’re doing it in the first place.” The mischievous glint was back in her eyes.

“I’d love to.”

They retired to the table, where Miranda poured two tin mugs of tea for them. She added just enough cream and sugar without him having to ask. If that wasn’t a sign of a good woman, he didn’t know what was. He took a sip, settling back in his chair, counting himself uncommonly lucky to have met Miss Miranda Clarke.